


July 13: Cathedral

by LupusScintilla (inkandblade)



Series: July Prompt Table [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott McCall, Angst over Friendship, Camp Nanowrimo, Canon-esque but outside timeline, Failed Prompt Fic, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Not Beta Read, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fic, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 06:03:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11503269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandblade/pseuds/LupusScintilla
Summary: Stiles only realized he’d lost his shoes when he stopped running. The ground under him wasn’t painful to stand on, but there was dirt and grass and heaven knew what other kind of shit all over his feet, and it stung like hell as his skin healed over with it all caught in the wounds.





	July 13: Cathedral

Stiles only realized he’d lost his shoes when he stopped running. The ground under him wasn’t painful to stand on, but there was dirt and grass and heaven knew what other kind of shit all over his feet, and it stung like hell as his skin healed over with it all caught in the wounds.

He focused on the pinch and burn of it and let it bring his mind back to the moment. He’d zoned out as he ran. He patted his pockets and realized he must have left his phone behind. The last time he’d looked at the clock it had been just after midday. Stiles stretched his neck, and let his head hang back and looked through the spaces in the canopy. The sun was far from straight overhead; he must have run for hours.

He should probably be worried that he had no phone, no shoes or jacket, and no idea of which direction home was in. He huffed out a breathe at the absurdity and realized that it was the loudest sound around him. The tops of the trees above him were rippling in wind, but other than that, and him, there was silence. He breathed in and out again and this time it was a sigh of relief that he heard.

He’d wanted quiet. It wasn’t just that everything was louder now— louder and sharper and harder and stronger. It was that he was fighting himself every moment he was around the rest of the Pack. He couldn’t be what he was supposed to be. He didn’t think anyone had noticed it yet, and for that he was very glad, but they would soon. He had full control of the shift, and had gotten through his first moon without incident. That meant there were only so many times he could have a post-Bite breakdown before people started telling him to get over it.

He’d always thought he’d say no to the change, but when it came time and his dad was looking at him with hopeful eyes, and Scott and Derek and Lydia and… He knows it wasn’t all a mistake, but there are things that are certainly not right.

He can’t bend his neck to Scott. He can’t bring himself to do it. Even when Scott roared him down the couple of times in the first few days after Stiles woke up from his injuries? Stiles hadn’t backed off as far as he knew he should. He’d seen it happen with different wolves and different situations and different Alphas, and the cowed wolves had offered their jugulars and flashed their eyes and sometimes ended up curled in a ball and trembling.

When Scott had commanded him, Stiles had pulled his fangs in, let his eyes fade, and flipped off the Alpha off. Twice.

And that was why he’d run from the meeting today. He’d wanted away from the stink of that many people and hiss of so many breaths being taken at once and the constant buzz of the chattering and phones vibrating and.

And the ever present question in the back of his brain. Why do none of the others challenge Scott? Physically, of course, there’s an easy answer: Scott would rip any them to pieces without raising much of a sweat. Stiles hasn’t been able to reconcile that sensible knowledge with the growing desire, the building need he has to see Scott dipping his chin and baring his throat.

The others all did it so easily.

Stiles was a shitty person: Scott had grown into a good Alpha and was decent person all round.

Stiles was an even shittier wolf: Scott, the Alpha, and friend, who’d snatched him from the hands of death, would never, ever have his true submission.

Stiles sank to his knees and brought his arm to his face and bit down on his flesh to stop himself from howling. He had no idea where he was, and no idea if anyone had followed him, but he didn’t want to give them an easy to follow sign.

The pain in his feet was long gone, but his skin and muscle protesting jagged cuts he’d just left in his own wrist pulled him back into the moment. He watched the blood drip on the ground and decided it must be a trick of the fading afternoon light that it seemed to melt into the grass rather than stain the stems and leaves.

He looked up. He’d stopped in what you might call a clearing, except the space above was covered by the branches of the trees around it, so it looked more like a room with formidably tall walls and a towering ceiling. The floor was strangely clear of leaf letter considering the foliage around it, and there were a few fallen logs but nothing more. Stiles wanted to tell himself it had to be as wide across as a house was long, but that couldn’t be right. The branches from the trees around it wouldn’t reach in to cover the space all the way to the centre if that was the case.

He breathed in and smelled trees and grass and ants and peace. He felt more grounded here than he had in weeks.

“It’s something to do with the laylines.”

Stiles jumped and twisted and shifted. He bared his fangs and realized they were still blunt, human teeth.

Derek smiled, but didn’t laugh. “That’s also because of the energy here. It’s probably why you stopped running, too.”

Derek was not who he’d expected to follow him. He’d been distant since the Bite. Stiles had missed the time they’d been beginning to spend with each other before.

Stiles dropped his shoulders and dropped back down to the ground, this time sitting on his ass with his legs folded like he was in elementary school. His sniffed, loud and obvious, and found he could still smell Derek. He realized he’d been able to move at his new-normal speed, too.

“It only half blocks the shift?”

Derek stepped out from beneath the trees and dropped his duffel bag before he sat too. “It blocks aggression. You stank of it before you left the meeting. Whatever it is that’s been pissing you off for the last few weeks had you run close to forty miles, over rocks and through trees and streams, in just over two hours.”

Stiles shook his head. He leaned back and rested his weight on one arm stretched behind him. “Bullshit. The fastest marathon ever recorded was just over two hours. 26 miles on nice flat roads.”

“The fastest human marathon ever recorded. You’re not human, Stiles.” Derek tucked his legs under himself. “But that’s not what’s got you angry, is it?”

Stiles closed his eyes and turned his head. He dug his fingers into the ground behind him, then opened his eyes and found an ant to focus on in the grass. “Is it that obvious?”

“No.” Derek reached forward and ran his hand, palm down and fingers spread, over the forest floor. “Your dad can see it because he’s hyper-focused on what’s happened to you since the bite. Lydia can see it because she feels emotions more than the rest of us. I can see it because,” he pulled his hand back, “I’m watching out for you like your dad is, too. I want to help, if you want help.”

Stiles rubbed his lips together then pushed his lower teeth out and dragged them back into his mouth against the skin of his top lip. “I can’t.” He looked back up at Derek, sitting cross-legged and calm and looking like there was no place he’d rather be than in the woods waiting for a newly-turned wolf to spill his proverbial guts. “I don’t…” He couldn’t form the words.

“You do, and you can. You know what’s eating you, and you know you can trust me. You can hear my heart and smell my intent and you know that I will keep my promise when I tell you that I won’t judge you, and I won’t tell a soul if you don’t want me to.”

Derek wasn’t lying. Stiles was good at the sniffing and the listening things. He’d taken to being a wolf like a natural, apparently. Chris Argent thought it was because he’d spent so long running with the Pack, dealing with the Pack, and wrangling the Pack that he simply knew how to be a wolf as well as he knew how to be a human. No one, not even Lydia or Derek or the other couple of born wolves who’d joined them, had disagreed.

“I think I’m going to have to leave Beacon Hills. I need to find another Pack.” Stiles watched and listened and breathed in all he could to parse Derek’s reaction. There was none. He just waited. “I can’t bring myself to submit to Scott.”

Derek scented the air between them, but otherwise didn’t move. “I think you’re right on two of three counts.” He sniffed again, pushing his nostrils down to draw them out wide. “Are you sadder about not submitting or leaving?”

Stiles wasn’t saddened by the fact that he couldn’t submit. He was embarrassed and annoyed and upset, but not sad. The idea of leaving his dad, and everyone else important to him, threatened to bring tears to his eyes. “Leaving.”

“Then don’t leave.”

All the air rushed out of Stiles lungs with the sound that he made. He pulled his hands to his face and folded himself over his lap, covered his eyes with his palms. He sat up slowly but left his hands where they were as he spoke. “You and I both know that’s not gonna fly.”

Stiles heard Derek move, then felt his fingers slip under Stiles’ palms and pull his hands down from his face. “It works for me, and it can for you. I can’t bend my neck to him, either. I won’t. He’s a good Alpha, but he’s not my Alpha, and never will be.” Stiles opened his mouth, but Derek kept talking. “You owe him nothing for turning you. He did it because he wanted to save his best friend.”

“But—”

“Yes, there’s usually a link between the Bitten and the Biter, but you know full well it varies in strength. Your wolf-side has zero attachment to Scott, but your human-side still considers him your brother. That’s why it’s eating you up inside, and also the reason you haven’t stepped up and physically challenged him.”

Stiles really, really wanted to growl at that, but whatever it was in the ground and the trees stopped it from forming in his throat. “No, I haven’t physically challenged him because I’m A, not an idiot, and B, not an asshole.”

Derek laughed. It was quiet, but it made his t-shirt shift up and down his chest. “Are you going to tell me that you don’t want him to bend his neck to you? That you wouldn’t want to take his power if he offered it?”

Stiles swallowed hard but didn’t shake his head. “You’d hear me lie.” He looked down and realized Derek hadn’t let go of his hands. Stiles’ were now as smooth as Derek’s and it was strange to hold a man’s hand when everything about the grip was soft. There were some things about being a werewolf that still gave him pause.

“You’re too close to him, as a human and a brother, to let Scott be your Alpha. And you’re too close to being an Alpha in your own right.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek and Derek huffed. “No, I don’t mean you’ll spontaneously develop into one, too. Though if there were going to be two True Alphas in one town, I don’t think anyone would be surprised if it happened in Beacon Hills.” He grinned a little until Stiles half-smiled back, then his voice was serious again. “If you’d been born a wolf you’d have been one of the Alphas in succession, no matter if you were the reigning Alpha’s child or not.”

“That doesn’t solve my problem. I can’t be in Scott’s Pack.”

“We’ll be Omegas together. You’re a stable wolf in a stable territory, it’s possible. Not feeling obligated to attend Pack meetings might make them less of a chore. It’ll reduce your stress, and your dad’s, and Scott’s too. He might not have cottoned on to what you’ve been going through, but he’s not stupid. He knows something’s going on.” He squeezed both of Stiles’ hands a little. “We can come back to The Grove as often as you want if you feel your control slipping the way you did today.”

It was so very tempting, but, “It’ll break Scott’s heart.”

“For a few moments, yes. But you’ll both deal with it. He’d be worse if you left. He’d never stop blaming himself.” He dropped one of Stiles’ hands and reached out to drag his duffel closer. He drew back the zipper and pulled out a couple of tin camping-mugs. “There’s a creek a few yards from the other side of the clearing. We can head back in the morning. I’ve got protein bars, clean clothes, a couple of blankets, and,” he rummaged around inside what Stiles now realized was a really big bag and pulled.

He’d brought Stiles’ other sneakers, a pair of socks tucked into the top of one.

“I.” The tears were actually coming now. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

The tips of Derek’s ears were pink, and Stiles sniffed and. Oh. That’s why Derek had been avoiding him. Stiles took the offered shoes and put them on the ground beside them.

He reached up and pushed a few strands of Derek’s hair behind his ear. He lifted his fingers slowly, then dragged them down Derek’s face and over his beard and before he could move them off, Derek pushed his cheek into Stiles’ hand.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

♠

~~_Cathedral: [n] the principal church of a diocese, containing the bishop's throne; [n] (in nonepiscopal denominations) any of various important churches_ ~~

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I abandoned the prompt (and yes I skipped one, too!). But this is what happened when I tried to sit down and write about a sacred space. It’s a failure to fulfill, but I’m glad I wrote it.
> 
> The prompt table I'm using can be found [here](https://inkandblade.tumblr.com/post/162231101861/my-july-campnano-is-set-500-words-minimum-per).


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